Enjoy The Silence
by littlehutt
Summary: Arthur and Curt reflect on their different ways to enjoy the silence, all this with a concert in the background. Set after the movie's ending and in the 90s. Established Curt/Arthur, Curt is the movieverse Iggy Pop.


**Author's note**

You can listen to the concert of Curt and the Rats too with this playlist : www[dot]deezer[dot]com/music/playlist/curt-wild-playlist-25681017

**Enjoy The Silence**

"Curt?" Arthur called, shutting the front door behind him.

He listened intently for a moment but the house remained silent. Too silent for Curt to be in there. Well, he would have to break the big news later. Now was the time to make a nice cup of tea and enjoy this unexpected silence.

It was pretty rare these days that Arthur had the house to himself. Ever since Curt had moved in, it was as if the place had come alive. Sometimes he would miss his solitary, quiet hours where he could just relax and read or listen to some rock'n roll, away from the world; but most of the time, he was glad, even thankful for the tornado that Curt was. He sure left a mess behind him everywhere he went, but he made everything more passionate and… real.

Before Curt, the place had felt like a museum to the few friends and guys Arthur had brought home. At least, that was what they had said. After him, the place was upside down and people came and went more often than not, and Arthur didn't know half of them but Curt did, so Arthur put up with it.

He had a small smile. It wasn't that long ago that he used to loathe others' company. He had learned to be self-sufficient the hard way, and it was a tough habit to undo. It had taken one Curt Wild to shatter it; if it hadn't been for this crazy, reckless, sometimes obnoxious but always sincere man, Arthur would still be willingly spending most of his time alone, in his silence.

He remembered the very day Curt had moved in; he had been somewhat horrified by all the stuff his lover had managed to store up through the years, and the mere sight of it had almost made him loose his temper. Almost, because the grin plastered on the blond's face had defused his anguish. Curt had seemed so genuinely happy to settle in Arthur's place, in _their_ place, that he hadn't had the heart to complain. What were too many souvenirs and guitars compared to this smile? And there was no such thing as "too many guitars", right? Especially when some of them had been signed by the very bests.

And Arthur didn't know how to refuse anything to that smile anyway. At first, he had thought it was all due to his teenage crush for Curt, even though he knew very well that he had grown out of it once their relationship had become more than just a one night stand. But then he had realized that it was all due to the person that Curt was: he always had this incredible aura surrounding him, day and night, when he was awake or asleep, it didn't matter. Curt Wild was not an invention, unlike Tommy Stone: he _was_ Curt Wild, through and through, for better or for worse.

And Curt Wild had chosen to share his life with him, Arthur Stuart, a bland and quiet English guy whose sole purpose in life was to make it as a respected music journalist. And preferably without causing a stir. That still amazed him. If only his teenage self could see him now, living with his idol… He wouldn't believe his very eyes. Curt had been a bit ill at ease, to tell the truth, with Arthur's extensive knowledge of him, but he had soon realized that Arthur wasn't just another weirdo trying to make a wet dream come true. He was too ordinary and reserved for that.

The reason why Curt had fallen for him remained a mystery though; one night, one very drunk night, he had found the guts to ask him bluntly:

"Why are you with me?"

"What?" was the puzzled and a little bit dazed reply he had gotten.

"Why are you with… me? Out of all people, I mean," he had stuttered, feeling foolish and yet daring.

Curt had looked at him, sitting up in their bed, and had cracked his trademark smile.

"Are you fucking serious?"

All Arthur had done in return had been to nod enthusiastically. A little too enthusiastically even, seeing how the room had started to spin around him.

Curt had laughed heartily, a bit too long and too hard for Arthur who had become sullen. Curt had finally noticed it and had told him, still chuckling:

"I'm with you 'cos I love _you_, duh. I love all of you, Arthur Stuart. From your smarts to your looks, from head to toes to fingers to cock to mouth, even when it asks stupid questions. And believe me: I've heard a lot of dumbass questions from dumbass journalists over the years!"

Arthur could still remember the incredible warmth that had rushed through him at these words, and he was sure it wasn't just due to the alcohol. Or Curt's tongue leaving a wet trail along his neck.

His daydreaming was interrupted by the sound of the front door slamming shut and Curt talking with Dave, the bassist of his band:

"Man, can you imagine how fucking great that'd be if I opened the show with 'Wild One'?"

"Yeah, I don't know… I like the idea and all, but I thought we could go for something more aggressive for the opening."

"Come on Dave, you're shitting me right? What's wrong with O'Keefe's song?"

Arthur stepped out of the kitchen, holding on his cup of tea, and saw Curt and Dave settling down in the living room with their instruments.

"Hey," he let out, and the blond turned around, facing him.

"Arthur! You're home early, nice. In fact, it's perfect! That idiot standing next to me is criticizing the great 'Wild One'. Tell him he's an idiot."

"Sorry Dave, but… yes, you're an idiot," Arthur conceded with a half-smile.

Curt's smile on the contrary was anything but half: it was plain victorious.

"Told you so Dave. And the great musical expert who happens to be my other half agrees. Basically, you're fucked."

Dave simply rolled his eyes, not offended at all, and picked up his bass to tune it.

"Curt? Can I talk to you?" Arthur jumped at the chance.

"Sure. I'm getting a beer, you want something man?" he asked his bandmate, who declined the offer. "Refusing a beer now? Getting even more stupid by the minute, Dave. _By the minute_!" he exclaimed theatrically while heading out of the room.

It was Arthur's turn to roll his eyes: yes, Curt was home. You could definitely notice it.

"What did you want to talk about then?" the blond said, grabbing a beer in the fridge and opening it.

"The guy who was supposed to cover the 'Seeds of Punk' event tomorrow apparently got sick. Like really sick: throwing up on the floor every five minutes kind of sick..."

"Yeah okay, I get the picture," Curt interrupted him, making a face.

"So… It seems my boss thought about, well, me. To replace him."

"What? Really? That's fucking great!" Curt burst out.

He closed the gap between them, put his bottle on the counter and grabbed Arthur's face between his hands before planting a loud kiss on his forehead.

"I fucking knew this day would come! You've worked so hard for this, congrats!"

"It's only one article, don't get too excited. It might not turn into anything…"

"_Or_ it may turn into what you've always wanted: a full time job as a musical journalist. Don't be so pessimistic about this, enjoy the opportunity for once! You'll have other occasions to act your usual reasonable self."

"Yes… I guess you're right," Arthur finally admitted with a smile.

"Damn right."

After a pause during which Arthur took a sip of Curt's beer, the musician spoke out again:

"But now that I think about it… I'd better not talk about the gig in front of you."

"Why?"

"I want you to be as objective as possible. And surprised too."

"… Alright," Arthur agreed, not entirely sure he followed Curt's logic. Curt had his own logic after all, it wasn't new. "But if I may, just for this one time… I think you should start the show with something like 'Born To Be Wild'."

Curt raised his eyebrows and seemed to chew over the idea.

"That is, if you're still set on making a pun with your name. I just think it's a much more effective song for an opening. Nothing against O'Keefe, " he added, not wanting to be ripped into little pieces.

Curt remained silent, which worried a bit Arthur. Had he gone… too far?

"… Curt?" he tentatively said.

The large grin spreading on his lover's face reassured him instantly, as well as the peck on his lips.

"I love you, you know that?" Curt told him before turning around and going back to the living room, yelling: "Dave, what do you think of 'Born To Be Wild' instead of 'Wild One'? Does it do it better for you?"

Arthur shook his head, amused, and went to work upstairs: he needed to be alone to concentrate and study again some of the bands' biographies. The one-night concert featured people he knew by heart, like Curt and his Rats, but he was less familiar with a few of them, and he didn't want to screw his one time chance to make it as musical journalist. Or what felt like his one time chance.

Later that night, Arthur was dozing off on a history of rock anthology with a sound asleep Curt lying next to him, and he was just about to drift into sleep as well when Curt started tossing and turning. Startled, Arthur dropped his book that landed heavily on the floor, and the sound awoke his lover. The slightest noise could wake him up; he had once told Arthur it dated back to his teenage days and the shock treatments supposed to cure him from his homosexual 'pervasion', but he hadn't gone into the details.

"What… Arthur?" Curt let out in a whisper, squinting.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up. I was falling asleep myself on a book, and you became very agitated all of a sudden, it surprised me."

"Oh…"

"Are you okay?" Arthur asked, concerned.

"Yeah yeah…" Curt dismissed. "Just… Just turn off the light, please."

Arthur complied and lied down, trying to make himself comfortable, but as soon as he had put his head against the pillow, he felt Curt move closer and place an arm over his waist. The blond pressed his forehead against Arthur's temple, sighing, and the journalist waited for him to speak.

"I guess I'm just worried about tomorrow, that's all…" Curt finally muttered. "It's been a while since I was on stage in front of such a fucking huge audience."

"But you love that usually," Arthur ventured.

"Yeah, I know… Maybe it's the context? It reminds me of… Fuck. It reminds me of the 'Death of Glitter' gig…"

"Really?" Arthur hadn't seen this one coming.

"The whole commemorative atmosphere, see? The whole 'let's celebrate the old dying stuff' with the former celebrities," Curt tried to explain, getting tensed.

"Oh… I really don't see it like that. Alright, you're singing with other bands, and it's a celebration. But it's a celebration for the _revival_ of a musical genre. And that changes everything."

"Revival?" Curt repeated, doubtful.

"Of course! How can you not see that? It's the way the new generation is thanking you for having paved the way for them, for punk/grunge/garage rock. It's also their way of telling you you're still very much relevant."

"… You really think so?"

"Come on, you can't be that blind. Haven't you noticed that ever since these Nirvana kids made their appearance, you've become some kind of legend to them, along with Patti Smith, the MC5 or Captain Beefheart?"

"'Legend'! Now, you just want to have your way with me M. Stuart," Curt snorted, uncomfortable.

"Cut the crap, will you? I'm serious."

"All I'm saying is I didn't ask to be anybody's hero, idol, saviour or whatever."

"Modesty isn't your cup of tea, and self-loathing doesn't suit you at all. Why can't you accept that status? This recognition? It's part of your job, and you deserve it. You bloody do. So it's your turn now to enjoy what you have, and to make the most out of what you're experiencing."

They both remained silent for a while, Arthur gently stroking Curt's right arm, listening to the blond's breathing getting steadier. It unsettled him every time he got to witness Curt's self-deprecation. Sometimes, it was even pure hate. All those years had slowly but surely fucked up his vision of himself, and Arthur felt at loss with words during those rough moments. He wanted to tell Curt how talented, how beautiful, how passionate he was. No, saying it wasn't enough: he wanted to _convince_ Curt. And he tried, he would never stop trying, but words weren't powerful enough to shatter all the bad memories, all the abuse. It didn't help of course that he had never been very good with words. Silence had always been so much more comforting to him. So much easier. So much more real.

His hand went up Curt's arm to rest on the musician's neck, massaging it slightly, and he placed a caring kiss on his lover's forehead. He heard Curt sigh and felt him relax completely, and it made him smile in the darkness. He started slowly running his fingers through the washed out dyed blond hair while listening to the noises of the night. This. This felt so right. And he only hoped Curt was feeling the same at that very moment.

As Arthur was drifting off, he could hear Curt humming a song very softly, so very softly that he had a hard time recognizing it. Just before he fell asleep for good, he managed to decipher some snippets of lyrics:

"_Words are very unnecessary_…"

"How true…" he thought, closing his eyes again.

Curt woke up to the sound of silence and in an empty bed, and it made him growl. He hated it. Being alone. But most of all, he fucking hated silence. It was definitely more Arthur's thing than his. Where was Arthur by the way? He glanced at the radio clock on the nightstand: 10 am. Too fucking early to be awake. He hit the on/off button and Led Zeppelin's "Bron-Yr-Aur Stomp" immediately filled the room.

Letting out an approving noise, Curt settled back under the sheets and tried to mentally visualize his schedule for the day. His band had soundcheck at 2 pm, and they were supposed to go on stage at 10:30. That left him plenty of time to get ready and hang with the guys. Yeah, it sounded nice, nice and relaxing.

This gig was putting him under way more stress than expected, but talking about it with Arthur had made him realize why. It had been some time that he hadn't performed in front of such a large audience and along some bands he truly respected. Curt didn't respect many things in life, so it meant a big deal to him. But most importantly, this concert echoed in his mind the 'Death of Glitter' one. This hadn't been a bad night per se, especially since it had been the first night he had shared with Arthur. But the symbolism… and Brian's shadow. Brian's overbearing shadow. Even after all those years, Curt hadn't managed to forget his past, to erase that period in his life. He hadn't quite forgiven Brian for betraying their music, their ideals, their relationship.

"That was Led Zeppelin's 'Bron-Yr-Aur Stomp', hope it finished waking up the last sleepy heads! If only all songs dedicated to a dog could rock like that, the world would be a better place. Ain't I right John? Yeah I think I am! And now, Tommy Stone's latest hit song…"

Curt quickly smashed his fist on the radio, silencing it at once. Oh the irony. What a bitch.

Well, fuck irony. And fuck this Brian Tommy bastard. His life had changed. _He_ had changed. Things couldn't be better for him right now. He was getting recognition and the possibility of really touring again, his old friends had stuck with him, and he had finally met someone with whom he felt like he could build something lasting and real. Very real. Today was not a day to spend ruminating over old grudges and wounds.

He got up and headed downstairs to the kitchen, which was empty as hell except for a little note on the table. Starting the coffee machine, he sat down and grabbed the piece of paper which had Arthur's handwriting on it.

"_Good day sunshine, I left early 'cos I had to drop by the office before the concert. I have interviews with most of the bands, so I'll see you there this afternoon when you show up for soundcheck. If you show up. Please show up… Please please (me)? 2 pm, remember?_"

"Of course I'm gonna show up!" Curt snorted. The days when he didn't show up to a rehearsal or a gig were long gone. Besides, the Rats would likely kill him if he didn't.

"_P.S: You're going to nail it tonight, I know it. For the one about to rock, I salute (and love) you._"

He couldn't help but grin: Arthur was not a man of many words, but he knew how to go straight to the point while being, well, a smart ass. And Curt found it both soothing and enticing. Not to mention Arthur's extensive knowledge of rock'n roll history; that was probably the only thing he was willing to ramble on, and Curt was never tired of listening to him once he got going on the subject.

Arthur's voice in fact was Curt's favourite silence, just before music. Some would use conversation and music to loose themselves; it felt like the other way around for him. He surrounded himself with friends and songs to get to his very own roots. Silence, in the commonly accepted sense, reminded him of too many bad things: his big brother's silence pact concerning their special little secret, his parents' disgusted silence the day he had been sent to the institution that was supposed to cure him of his homosexuality, the cold silence that reigned in that place, Brian's disbelieving and scornful silence during the last days of their relationship…

Fuck! There he was brooding again about past shit. That was enough. Curt Wild was not a cry baby. It was only a reaction to his sleep deprivation and the stress of the concert. And the current silence in the house. Re-reading Arthur's note, he nodded: he knew what album he was going to play at maximum volume to help him shake off the whiny bitch in him.

Standing up, he poured himself a cup of coffee and walked to the living-room where the stereo stood proudly, and soon enough it started yelling the first song from AC/DC's eighth album. Curt stretched to the sound of the guitars and let himself fall on the sofa as Brian Johnson screamed. Yeah, that was more like it. Sipping his coffee, he grabbed the notepad left on the floor the day before and once again went through the set list they had agreed on.

They were supposed to go on stage for half an hour, and the boys had suggested to finish with "Your Pretty Face Is Going To Hell", and it had seemed right at the moment: a raw, dirty song that fitted the theme and the evening pretty well. But Curt felt something was missing, and he didn't know exactly what it was. He pondered over the matter for some time but was interrupted before he solved the problem by Dave and his drummer, Scott. Turning off the stereo, he got up to open the door to them, and Scott exclaimed, eyeing his boxer shorts:

"Come on man, you're not dressed yet?"

"What's the rush?"

"What's the… You hear him, Dave? We have a fucking concert tonight and he's all Frankie-goes-to-Hollywood relax."

"What did you call me? Don't fucking compare me to these dance-pop wankers," Curt growled, letting his friends in.

"Seriously, go get dressed. We wanted to grab some lunch before the soundcheck," Dave said.

"Alright, alright! No need to be a fascist arse about it. Make yourselves at home, I'll go get changed," he let out before heading upstairs to the bedroom.

After a quick shower, he came down wearing a worn out pair of jeans and a black t-shirt, and he slouched on the sofa once again to put on his boots.

"I didn't know you had so many albums," Scott commented in awe in front of the many crowded shelves.

"I've got nothing to brag about: most of the stuff is Arthur's."

"Really? That's quite impressive. I had no idea he was such a music maniac!"

"Well, that's because you don't know him, otherwise you wouldn't be surprised," Curt cockily replied, standing up.

"Give me a break," Scott sighed, rolling his eyes. "Looks like he's a fan of ours," he added, scanning through the collection.

"Of course he's a fan of ours, he's got great taste!"

"Well, he's dating you man, so it's not _that_ obvious…"

"Fuck off Scott!" Curt spat giving him the finger, but it only made Scott grin even wider.

"Mmm, interesting! There seems to be a breech in your darling's perfect taste," Scott said while producing Depeche Mode's _Violator_.

"What? Why?"

"You like this stuff?"

"Sure. Not you?"

"Nope. Too electro for me."

"But the melodies, the lyrics... They're good, good enough to disregard the electro sound!"

".."

"Come on Dave, help me out on this one!"

"I'd love to chitchat, guys, but we're running late. Ron and James are going to kill us if we don't show up soon."

"Ah Dave, always the voice of reason," Scott mocked.

"And you're the voice of bullshit," Curt retorted, leading them out.

He wasn't Depeche Mode's biggest fan to be honest, but he had come to associate their work with Arthur: the boy had been obsessed with their _Black Celebration_ for weeks, to the point that Curt had started worrying for his sanity. He had fortunately moved on to their other albums, and he had introduced them to Curt who had been reluctant at first, for the same reasons as Scott (but he'd rather have his balls ripped out than admit it to the bastard). The band had somewhat grown on him, mostly thanks to Arthur's guidance and insistence.

And then it hit him. The missing piece of the set list. It was so perfect it made him laugh out loud, getting him questioning looks from his bandmates. The song would be his gift to Arthur, to thank him for his steady support and never-failing faith in him. The fact that it'd piss off Scott and unsettle the audience was only the icing on the cake. The delicious, delicious icing on the cake.

After lunch, the five of them went straight to the big music venue where the concert was taking place. Curt managed to take aside Dave as the others were busy tuning their instruments on stage:

"I want to change a bit the set list for tonight."

"How much is 'a bit'?"

"The last song."

"Okay, I'm listening. Fire away."

"I was thinking of moving up 'Your Pretty Face Is Going To Hell' and have it followed by 'My Baby Wants To Rock And Roll' and 'I Need Somebody'."

"You want to end on this one?" Dave interrupted him, doubtful.

"Of course not! I want to end with, hang on to your panties… 'Enjoy The Silence'," Curt proudly announced.

"You're serious?" the bassist chuckled.

"Dead serious," Curt confirmed with a grin.

"Well… That could be interesting. Even great, actually. And imagine Scott's face when he's gonna have to play it live!"

"Exactly, that's why I need you to convince the guys to go for it."

"Me? Why?"

"Because you're the voice of reason, Dave, and with great power comes great…"

"Alright, cut it, I'll do it."

"Thanks man," Curt smiled and patted Dave's shoulder. Now he couldn't wait for the show to begin.

The afternoon flew by, with the rehearsals and the interviews. The only, brief relaxing moment came during Patti Smith's soundcheck, which made Curt stop whatever he was doing and lean against the wall backstage, listening to that damn fine lady. His eyes travelled down the pit and caught Arthur looking all serious with his glasses on and interviewing the organizers. He really hoped that night would turn out to be Arthur's big night, his one time opportunity to get the job of his dreams. Besides, Curt would really hate to see such an impressive knowledge on rock music go to waste.

Ten minutes before going on stage, Curt was downing his third bottle of beer when Arthur popped by the room reserved to them, and the blond was suddenly so relieved to see him that he crushed him into a tight embrace.

"Hey, are you okay?" Arthur smiled, taken aback.

"Yeah… I'm just nervous. Fucking hate it," Curt growled, detaching himself and finishing his beer.

"How many of those have you had?"

"Not enough," he sneered.

"Curt…"

"C'mon, don't worry love, I only need you to relax," he interrupted, wrapping an arm around his lover's shoulders.

"How sweet…" the latter replied, mildly convinced.

"In fact, I'd need some relaxing time with you right now," Curt whispered in his ear and kissed his neck.

"If it isn't our favourite journalist!" Scott interrupted them, having noticed Arthur's presence.

"Hey Scott, ready for tonight?" Arthur waved, ignoring Curt's frustrated groan.

"Bet I am, even though your husband is driving us insane with his last-minute changes in the set list."

"Scott! Enough already! You've been complaining about that the entire afternoon, I can't take it anymore," James moaned from the other side of the room.

"Hi Arthur," Dave met up with them and shook his hand. "How's the evening so far?"

"Very good, really. The audience is overexcited and the place is packed, you're gonna love it."

"Perfect! But I thought you were supposed to work, am I wrong? I mean, you can snog Curt whenever you want, but is it worth missing the show right now?"

"Shut the fuck up Dave," Curt snarled while Arthur laughed.

"You're right, I just wanted to come by and see how you were doing, but I have to go back out there."

"You're going back to your seat?" Curt asked.

"Actually, I was thinking of staying backstage for the second part of the evening. I've tested the water among the audience, now I want to experience things on the other side."

"Don't forget the killer view you'll have when I'll be rocking the stage."

"Right, how could I forget that," Arthur laughed.

Curt smiled a genuine smile: Arthur really seemed to be enjoying that evening and this job, and it was fucking great to hear him laugh like that.

"Alright guys, I'm leaving you some space before the big thing. Good luck!"

"Thanks man," Dave smiled, and the others waved him goodbye as well.

"I'll see you around," Arthur told Curt.

"You'd better," he replied, ruffling the journalist's hair.

Arthur disappeared behind the door, and Curt's mind went blank, focusing only on the gig, and before he even knew it, he was on stage and he felt at home at once. All his insecurities, all his apprehension vanished as soon as he faced the audience; the spotlights were burning his skull but he could feel a cool draft over his bare chest. Grinning insanely, he grabbed the mike and let out a savage scream that shook the entire room as an intro to their first song, 'Born To Be Wild'.

His body went mad as the set list went by: 'Search And Destroy', 'I Wanna Be Your Dog', 'Dog Food', 'Your Pretty Face Is Going To Hell', 'My Baby Wants To Rock And Roll'… He only started calming down with 'I Need Somebody', regaining some composure and saving some much needed energy. The animal in him cooled down a bit, and Curt pushed back his hair dripping with sweat. Swaying to the sound of James's and Ron's guitars, he stopped jumping around and focused on his guts and voice.

"Alright you motherfuckers, this will be the last song for tonight. Some will think it's a weird choice, but weird is what we are. If you don't like that, then fuck off, 'cos you sure ain't one of our fans!" Curt announced, and he winked at Scott who gave him the finger in return.

His grin grew wider, but the look in his eyes was no longer insane: Wild was giving way to Curt.

_Words like violence_

_Break the silence_

_Come crashing in_

_Into my little world_

_Painful to me_

_Pierce right through me_

_Can't you understand_

_Oh my little girl_

Silence there was indeed among the audience, and it was awkward, but it didn't last and soon enough shouts and cheers filled the place. Satisfied, Curt carried on, his voice growing in intensity.

_All I ever wanted_

_All I ever needed_

_Is here in my arms_

_Words are very unnecessary_

_They can only do harm_

He took advantage of the short instrumental part to cast a glance backstage, seeking Arthur. He found him leaning at the exact same spot Curt had stood while watching Patti Smith a little earlier; the expression on his face was indescribable, and the blond suddenly wished really hard Arthur weren't such an enigma sometimes. His eyes focused again on the sea of people in front of him and he lost himself in their beats and moves, lying on the wooden floor.

_Vows are spoken_

_To be broken_

_Feelings are intense_

_Words are trivial_

_Pleasures remain_

_So does the pain_

_Words are meaningless_

_And forgettable_

And yet, even though Arthur remained aloof from time to time, this song had made Curt understand him way more than any discussion or explanation. Arthur wasn't at ease with words, so instead he would show him whatever he needed to express, and it felt so much more real and honest; compared to Arthur's silence, Brian's lyrical vows of eternal adoration fell short. Oh so short.

_All I ever wanted_

_All I ever needed_

_Is here in my arms_

_Words are very unnecessary_

_They can only do harm_

And singing this song was Curt's way to remind his lover that good could still come out of words, if only when they were lyrics. This song represented in his mind a middle ground for both of them: their very different personalities came together through it, in the most natural way, as natural as their relationship. His voice became rougher as he hit the last sentence and he repeated it, again and again, gradually going from a whisper to a scream.

_Enjoy the silence_

The rush he felt when the room filled with deafening applause was like no other, and it left him dazed and ecstatic. He managed to yell a "Thank you little fuckers, that was first-class rock'n roll!" before stumbling backstage, and he collapsed on Arthur who managed to catch him just in time.

"Wow, easy peasy!" Arthur exclaimed.

"Lemon squeezy," Curt chuckled, slouching even more, and the journalist found himself pressed against the wall behind him.

"Come on, let's go have a drink with the band," Arthur laughed.

"I'm good here," Curt replied, and he captured Arthur's lips.

The kiss they shared was deep and electrifying; Curt wanted to give Arthur a taste of what he was feeling right now. This. This felt even better.

"Get a room, M. Wild."

At the amused comment that came from behind them, Curt reluctantly let go of Arthur and turned his head, only to find Patti Smith walking toward the stage and waving at him with a mocking smile.

"And you Ms Patti, get on stage and leave the night to lovers, 'cos it belongs to them," he grinned back at her before she disappeared under the spotlights with a laugh.

"You know her?" Arthur let out, stunned.

"Of course! I told you!"

"Yeah, no, I mean… I just hadn't realized you knew her well enough to joke around with her!"

"What can I say, I'm a V.I.P. Besides, she's the Godmother of punk rock, and apparently I am the Godfather, so we _had_ to be bffs."

"Of course, what was I thinking…" Arthur rolled his eyes.

"You weren't, obviously."

"Mmm… Now that you're pointing it out, you're right. I should be _thinking_, about my article and the legend performing right now," the journalist replied, unwrapping himself from the blond and getting closer to one side of the stage.

"Hey hey, where the hell are you going?" Curt complained as he grabbed Arthur's hand.

"Get a better view to do my job properly."

Curt let out a small groan but followed him anyway. He wrapped again his arms around Arthur's waist, pressing Arthur's back against his bare chest, and he rested his chin on his lover's left shoulder.

"Comfy?" Arthur asked.

"You're always comfy dear," he smirked.

They quietly, almost religiously listened to the American singer before them, and a few moments later the Rats joined them, bringing along some deliciously cold bottles of beer. The rest of the night was a blur. They had stayed until the very end of the show and then followed some of the other musicians who had stuck around to a bar nearby. Curt didn't really remember what had been said, just a medley of beer, cigarettes, gossip, laughter and some more alcohol; it all seemed like a daydream.

It wasn't until he felt the solid mattress under him that he awoke from all this. Opening his eyes, he realized he was back home and stark naked in his very own bed. The only light in the bedroom was coming from the window, a mix of the moon and the street lamps, so it took him some time to spot Arthur who was getting undressed at on the other end of the room.

"Thanks," Curt croaked.

"Jeez, you scared me! I thought you were asleep," Arthur started.

"Thanks for carrying me back home."

"Well, I just couldn't leave you like that in some bar, a fan of yours would have taken advantage of you," Arthur chuckled as he made his way to the bed and lied down.

Curt let out a drunken laugh and rolled over Arthur, trapping the journalist under him.

"You didn't tell me what you thought of my gig," he said accusingly.

"You didn't leave me the time to say anything, now did you? You jumped on me as soon as you were backstage."

"… Yeah, well… Right then, tell me _now_ what you thought of it!"

"I thought you guys were great. You gave a rough and powerful performance, you oozed spasmodic energy and demonic magic. I really liked the repertoire you picked, it covered a large spectrum of the band's history and…"

"'Oozed spasmodic energy'? 'Spectrum of the band's history'? C'mon Arthur, shut it with the journalist's talk! I ain't your boss or one of your readers, tell me what _you_ really thought about it!"

"Alright, alright, no need to get on your soap box! You were so great, M. Wild, that all I could think of while you were on stage was how amazingly talented and shaggable you are, and how lucky I am."

The reply silenced Curt at once, that and the kiss Arthur gave him to prove his point and his honesty.

"You must be tired, you'd better get some much deserved sleep," Arthur told him a few minutes later.

"Yeah, you're right, I'm fucking exhausted."

"You're gonna want to move then."

"Move?"

"Yes, off me," Arthur clarified.

"But, I told you earlier: you're very comfy."

"Come on, you're crushing me!" Arthur laughed, trying to push him away.

Curt struggled a bit but he was really tired and Arthur was being really determined, so that he finally let himself fall next to his lover.

"You won, you won…" he exhaled.

He heard Arthur laugh again, and he felt the journalist move closer and put an arm over his stomach.

"Are you mad?" Arthur ventured, his chin resting on Curt's right shoulder.

"Exhausted more like…"

"Good night then."

"Night," he answered, kissing the top of Arthur's head.

He was about to fall asleep when his lover broke the silence, very quietly and hesitantly:

"Just… Curt… Why did you choose 'Enjoy The Silence'?"

"What?" Curt distractedly said.

"Using Depeche Mode at a punk rock concert, that's… I'm just wondering."

Curt sighed and rolled his eyes: it was the 'why do you love me' nonsense all over again. For such a smart fella, he could be pretty thick sometimes.

"Really, Arthur? Really?"

"What?"

"You cannot be that daft, can you?"

"I…"

"Yeah, _you_! Christ, do I have to spell it out? I didn't choose Depeche Mode, I chose _you_! I chose this fucking song because to me, it's you. And I didn't care that others wouldn't get it, or think it was a weird choice, 'cos in the end, it's all about you, Arthur."

"… Oh…"

"Yeah, 'oh'! Now will you stop with your stupid questions already? Or do you want to ask me again why I'm 'wasting my time' with you when apparently there are so many guys out there ten times better than you?"

"I… I'm good. Thanks."

"Great. Fucking perfect. Good night."

Arthur didn't say another word, but Curt felt him smile against his shoulder, and it was enough to make him smile as well before he dozed off, enjoying for once the silence reigning in the bedroom.


End file.
